


Proof Of Life Lived

by LadyJaguar



Category: Holby City
Genre: Comparing scars, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One Shot, johnrik, platonic snuggling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-26 19:06:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19012015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyJaguar/pseuds/LadyJaguar
Summary: This work is complete.(Mostly) canon. In S20/E41 The Three Musketeers, Henrik and John have attended Roxanna's funeral. In the last scene, Henrik asks John if he wants to join him for dinner and a bottle of Pinot at Roxanna's favourite restaurant, but John says he's too busy with research.This is what might have happened if John had said yes.......Believe it or not, this was inspired by a scene between Mel Gibson and Rene Russo in Lethal Weapon 3. Don't let that put you off though.





	Proof Of Life Lived

 

 

"Are you sure? I think a glass of Pinot would do us both good after today."

Henrik hovered in the doorway, watching John staring intently down the microscope. John had turned him down when he mentioned the table booked for 8pm at a local bistro, and it was obvious he was intending to pull another all-nighter down at the lab. 

John looked up at him. "Henrik..."

The refusal was on his lips. Henrik knew it before he even asked. He steeled himself. 

"Maybe you're right. I need to get away from this place for a while."

"We both do. Thank you."

John looked at him for the first time. "What for?"

"I ..." Henrik shrugged, unable to voice what he wanted to say.

But what did he want to say? He was grateful for John's company? That he needed it? He didn't know.  

 

"TO ROXANNA." JOHN lifted his glass. Henrik did the same.

"Roxanna." They drank. Henrik watched John closely. He seemed distracted, but then they all were. "You couldn't have saved her, John. The damage was done."

John tried to smile. "The damage was done years ago, Henrik. Roxanna getting hit by Meena's car was just ... whatever Rox's mother had, that was in her too. Her brain was a time-bomb, waiting for something to trigger the locked-in response. I knew I couldn't save her as soon as I opened her up but ... She was our friend, Henrik."

"Yes, she was." Henrik placed his hand lightly over John's.

John tensed and drew away. Henrik remembered the hug they had shared earlier that day, the way John had leaned into him as if drawing comfort from his closeness after the near-disaster in the operating theatre. He knew his friend was holding his emotions in tight, but he was like a dam ready to burst. The fissures were beginning to show. Roxanna's death had affected him far more than Henrik realised.

They ate in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Henrik had just poured the last of the wine when his phone beeped. John's went at the same time. 

"There's been an RTA. Head injury. I guess Holby wants us back where we belong." John sounded almost relieved. 

"Are you sure it's wise for you go to back into theatre after today?"

"Of course. Why on earth shouldn't it be?" 

It was as if the past few hours hadn't happened. Henrik was saddened by John's seeming eagerness to get back to the hospital, and in two minds whether to let him operate. As he paid the bill he vowed to watch him very closely.

 

"I TELL YOU what. Come down to the labs. I think we need something stronger than Pinot," John said as they cleaned up after the operation. It had been a resounding success, and John seemed back on top form after his wobble earlier in the day.

"It isn't some hideous Grappa like you forced on us at university, is it? I couldn't see for days after that."

John laughed, more relaxed now he was in his familiar environment. "God no. I remember that night. I was the one looking after Rox as she was sick in the toilet for hours." He paused for a moment. "I have a bottle of single malt that someone gave me last Christmas. It's never been opened. I can't think of a better time."

"That sounds a splendid idea." Henrik put on clean scrubs and his Holby hoodie. As John did the same, he noticed how much weight John had lost recently. He had never been well-built, but too many hours down in the lab and not enough sustenance had given him an unhealthy pallor and jutting bones. He found himself looking at John's naked back, the knobs of his spine and the musculature of his shoulders. Despite the unhealthy lifestyle, he still managed to look good. It was all he could do to stop from tracing the length of his spine with his finger. 

"What is it?" John was watching him in the mirror.

Henrik tried not to look guilty. "You need to eat more." He handed him his hoodie. 

"You can talk. You're still the same size you were at university. Don't tell me you have a healthy, balanced diet."

"I eat a lot of fish," Henrik said defensively. 

John smiled crookedly. "One day I'll get some decent meat inside you. Come on." He gently slapped Henrik's stomach and left the room. 

 

JOHN RETRIEVED THE whisky from his drawer. "This way." He nodded for Henrik to follow. They walked down the dimly-lit corridor to another room, which he opened with his security tag. "I discovered this recently. It's a bit more comfortable than the lab."

He fumbled in the dark for a moment, then the room was softly illuminated by coloured Christmas lights. 

"What is all this?" Henrik looked around. In the darkened sides of the room were metal shelves filled with old files and plastic drawers, but in the middle, someone had placed a double mattress and laid a duvet over it. More sheets created a canopy over the head of the makeshift bed. Henrik stared around him in disbelief. "I had no idea this was even here."

"I have it on good authority, Oliver Valentine spent his wedding night here. In fact, I don't think I want to know how many trysts have taken place on this mattress, but I've claimed it now. This way I can spend more time in the lab. And it's well-stocked. See?"

Henrik looked. One of the shelves held snacks and energy drinks, a mug and some tea, and two tumblers which John used for the whisky.

"Why two? Have you had anyone else down here?"

"Why would I?" John handed him one of the tumblers with a generous amount of Talisker in it. " _Salud_." He drank. 

" _Salud_." Henrik did the same. 

"And don't tell me it's against Health and Safety. This is me you're talking to." John sat down on the bed. "Make yourself comfortable, Henrik. You're standing there like a vicar in a whorehouse."

Henrik sat and looked around at the lights. "Festive," he said lightly.

"They reminded me of our room at uni. Don't you remember Rox coming in and decorating it when we weren't there? I kept those lights up all year round afterwards."

"I remember. She loved Christmas. She was a wonderful, loving, giving person. Why is life so unkind to take the good people away so young, John?"

"Come on, don't get maudlin. She wouldn't want that. The rest of us are left with the scars. Mental as well as physical."

"Yes, I know all about those, but in the interests of not being maudlin, I prefer not to dwell on them." Henrik folded himself down on the bed, which was surprisingly comfortable. "Now physical scars I don't have a problem with. They're visible proof of life lived. I had a patient who told me that. She had a terrible scar on her throat from where a dog attacked her, but she was quite happy for it to be seen. She was an inspiration."

John lounged back, his head resting on his hand. "What about you, Henrik? Do you have any physical scars?" 

"A few. I'll show you mine if you show me yours." He said it lightly, aware that John was uneasy about his body. He sipped his whisky, feeling the warm liquor light a fire in the pit of his stomach. 

"You first." John smiled. "We've hardly talked, you and I. Since the shooting, I don't feel as if we've really connected. It's understandable, but ..."

"I know. I'm aware of it too. It's been too long. Do you remember those deep conversations we used to have in digs? I can't remember what about but they seemed incredibly important at the time."

"We were stoned, Henrik," John laughed. "It was Rox doing all the work at that time. We were drinking and she was in the library. I don't actually remember doing a lot of work during the day, though we were brilliant, obviously."

"Obviously." Henrik toasted him with his glass. 

"So. Scars. You start." John pointed at him with the hand holding his whisky tumbler.

Henrik held out his right arm. "There's one. Doctors Chowdhury and McKendrick stitched me up. Very neatly, too."

John peered at the scar. "What happened? That looks way too close to your radial artery."

Henrik laughed sadly. "I punched a computer screen. The first time I've punched anything, if I'm honest, and probably the last." 

"Why?" John's hand was supporting Henrik's wrist. He ran his thumb over the faint white scar. 

"Oh, there was something about the trial, the shooting, and a picture of me on the internet. I was lashing out at myself. That's what my therapist said afterwards, anyway."

John grimaced. "You're lucky it wasn't more serious. Next time, try scrolling down. It's easier and less messy. This is one of mine." 

He rolled up his scrub trouser leg and pointed to a patch on his skin where the skin was uneven and hair-free. "See? A rugby boot gouged out some skin. That wasn't nice." 

"And the reason why I never did like contact sports. I have something similar." Henrik pushed up the material of his own scrub trousers, revealing a leg smattered in silky dark hair. "That happened in the accident I was in with Mr. Malik. It wasn't serious but the hair has never grown back there either." 

"I'd forgotten what a hairy git you are, Henrik. The skin still looks like new." John stroked the skin of the scar. 

Henrik tried not to shudder at John's touch. He liked it too much. 

"Cold? I thought it was warm in here." John shed his hoodie and handed it to him. 

Damn, he had noticed. Henrik felt himself heating up. He was glad of the dim rosy lights which hid his discomfiture. 

"Your turn," he said lightly.

"Here." John took off his scrub top and pointed to the top of his left arm. There was a faint, flat mark, the size of a cricket ball. "Believe it or not, I had a tattoo removed. After we all parted after uni, I went on a sabbatical. This was done in a gay bar in Thailand."

Henrik laughed aloud. The sound shocked him. He couldn't remember laughing like that for a long time, but it felt good. "You idiot, John. What did it say?"

"The tattoo? It was a Chinese proverb. That's what I thought, anyway. I was told later it meant 'gullible tourist. Rob me.' Or something like that." 

"I don't believe it. You were never that stupid."

"When I was drunk, I could be very stupid. I still can be." John drained his tumbler and poured more whisky into it. "Top up?"

"Why not?" Henrik held out his glass. "I do have one more. Somewhere down there." He pointed to his stomach.

"Let's see it then."

"If you must." Henrik lay down on the bed and pulled up his scrub top.

 "I can't see. The light's bad." John crouched next to him and peered at his pale skin. "Nope."

"It's there somewhere. I stitched the wound myself. Without anaesthetic."

"And you call me an idiot. Is it that? It looks like a scratch."

Henrik held his breath as John tugged at the elastic of the scrub trousers so they were lower on his hips, then traced a short line on his lower stomach.

"Yes, I believe so."

"It's tiny. Appendix?"

"No. A nail gun. I was shot." 

"Really? How the hell...?" John ran his finger over the scar again. 

"The son of a man who died in our care. He actually kidnapped me for a while. It was an unnerving experience."

"It must have been." John caressed the scar again and Henrik bit back a moan. The need for human contact was almost overwhelming. 

John moved up the bed and leaned on his hand again, looking down at him. His blue eyes were so knowing, it was as if he could see into Henrik's very soul. For a moment neither of them said anything. 

John spoke first. "I do have one more. It was given to me when I was a boy."

"Given to you?" 

"Yes. It was bestowed upon me." John rolled onto his back, staring up at the coloured lights. His face was lit with varying hues of red, green and gold.

"You've never talked about your childhood before."

"Because there was nothing to say. It was hideous but I escaped. I was lucky." He sat up and reached for his tumbler, taking a mouthful of whisky before laying back down. "They branded us, to give us the message we were owned and there was no way out. They were wrong though. Or maybe not. Every time I look in the mirror I see it, and remember how it felt when my skin was burned. It's here." He pulled down the elastic waistband and pointed. "I know where it is. I can feel it. Sometimes it itches even now."

Henrik saw a small keloid scar, pink and raised from the surrounding pale skin. It formed the rough shape of a 'T', just in the hollow between hip and pelvis.

"The evil that some men do," Henrik murmured. 

"Or women. The one I learned to like did that to me. Why do you think I have trust issues?"

Henrik examined the scar, finding it hard to resist the temptation to press his lips against it. Instead he stroked the tender skin with his fingers. Above him, John caught his breath. 

"Does that hurt?"

"No." John's voice was shaky. 

Henrik sat up. "I think I had better go."

"You've drunk too much to drive. Stay here." 

Henrik wanted to, but he was wary. Both of them seemed to be staring into an abyss of sorts, wondering whether to jump in or not. 

"Please." John's eyes were imploring. "It's been a lousy day. I think we need... company."

Henrik nodded. They needed something, that was for sure. Company was as good a plan as any. He lay next to John and stared up at the ceiling. It was pleasantly warm in the room and the bed was comfortable. John's closeness was very welcome as well. After a moment, he felt John's fingers against his.

"It's just us now," John said softly. "Did you love her very much, Henrik?"

Henrik sighed and reached to put his glasses on a shelf. "Yes, I did. I always have. but she wasn't interested in me as anything other than a friend. In the end her friendship was worth more than any clumsy attempts on my part to have a romance with her."

"Anyone else? Apart from Sahira Shah. I just call that episode your mid-life crisis."

"Miss Shah was a vibrant young woman. I just wanted her to be the best that she could be. That is all."

"A bit defensive, but okay. Anyone else? Women aren't the only option."

"I know that. There was someone else, but he... was unattainable.Too focussed on his work. I learned from him to be the same, and it has saved a lot of inconvenience. What about you, John?" He didn't like the way the conversation was going. It felt as if too many truths were fighting to reveal themselves.

"I've had affairs, but that isn't the same thing as actually loving someone. I don't know. Have I ever been in love? Possibly, once. Maybe I still am. He was unattainable, also too focussed on his work, so I could safely love him from a distance, knowing nothing would ever come of it. There would be no disappointment, no distractions. No inevitable breakdown into harsh words and estrangement." He smiled at Henrik and reached up to brush a stray hair from his face. "I'm content right where I am, concentrating on my work, in this place, with you. I wouldn't be anywhere else. And now I think we should get some sleep. It's been a long, stressful day." 

Henrik nodded, relieved. He was tired too, but John's words had comforted him somewhat. He turned out the light, plunging the room into absolute darkness. The dim light of the corridor gradually filtered through the small fireproof window in the door, allowing him to see enough to pull the duvet up over them. 

After a moment, he heard John sniff and sigh. He was weeping. 

"Sorry. Damned Scotch has made me melancholy after all."

Henrik didn't answer. He curled around John's body, wrapping his arm around him. John hugged his hand to his chest and squeezed it. 

"You give the best hugs," he murmured. They sighed as one and slept.

 

SOME HOURS LATER, John woke first. His head was resting on Henrik's bare back, and his arm was around Henrik's waist. He was warm, his skin silky soft and still fragranced with expensive shower gel from the day before. John knew he should get up, check his phone for the time and leave Henrik to wake on his own so he wouldn't be embarrassed.

But not yet. First he wanted to savour the feel of the man in his arms. He nosed Henrik's neck, breathing in his unique scent, and imprinted the feel of his body on his memory. 

_If I die soon, I'll have this mental picture of us together, and all is well._

He smiled and closed his eyes.

 

HENRIK ROLLED OVER and curled up around the small warm body next to him. He knew he should get up and check the time, but right then he didn't have the energy. After so many years waking up alone, to have someone there was a luxury he had long denied himself.

In another dimension, maybe he would have the courage to kiss the back of John's neck, just below his neatly cut hairline, and stroke his jutting hip bone. Maybe they would be able to find another sort of comfort in each other. He drowsed and fantasised and drowsed again, until he felt John shift against him and press a kiss to his temple before leaving the room.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly didn't know how to finish this. It was just a nebulous idea I worked on as I went. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it xx


End file.
